


in vinos veritas

by ourlovelybones



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: AU, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Isak and Even meet at a bar, M/M, even is kind to him, even shows him how to love himself, isak is working through past emotional issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 16:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11901399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourlovelybones/pseuds/ourlovelybones
Summary: “I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through, right now. I won’t even ask until you feel like you can trust me enough to confide in. But I promise, Isak, the pain’s not going to last forever.”au! where isak mets even at a bar one night and even helps him how to feel alive again, without the alcohol.





	in vinos veritas

**Author's Note:**

> completely unrelated, but buy [fifth harmony](https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/fifth-harmony/id1268845546?app=itunes) by fifth harmony on iTunes thanks x

There’s a boy with fluffy blond hair, sitting on the other side of the bar.

He’s laughing among company, his arm draped around the shoulders of a pretty blonde girl who looks up at him like he’s hung all the stars in the sky. His eyes are bright, bright blue and there’s a draw that pulls attention towards him like the moon.

The boy has a larger than life smile and he’s clearly effortlessly charming. There’s a glass of wine in his hand and it’s probably expensive - he seems like the type of guy to like expensive wine. He also seems like the type of guy who doesn’t need wine - expensive or not - to make himself come across as charming.

Isak drinks down his whiskey, savoring the burn as it slithers down his throat. He’s learned how to keep a straight face now, even if the burn is so vile he contemplates throwing up.

He’s seen the boy at the bar every night for the past week and he’s always come with the same crowd of people. He’s always got the same pretty blonde girl with his arm around her shoulders and she’s always looking up at him like he’s hung all the stars in the sky. Isak’s seen him enough times at the bar to know he doesn’t look her at the same way.

Every night for the past week, Isak sits in the far left corner of the bar, shrouded by shadows. Every night he comes in close to midnight and orders the hardest liquor he can get his hands on. He has a baby face but he blew the bartender at some party months ago he went to with Jonas, so his glass remains filled the entire night until he’s ready to leave.

He’s not sure why he’s there ( _he knows why he’s there_ ). There are plenty of bars he can go to in Oslo that have cheaper liquor and better music. They’re filled with more people, closer to his age, and have better appetizers than stale cheesy bread.

But they don’t have the boy with bright, bright blue eyes and a glass of expensive wine in his hand.

 

I.

 

One night, the boy looks over at Isak and their eyes connect.

Isak’s scowling at his awful whiskey, stirring the straw in his drink around and around. He’s pissed. He’s angry. He’s depressed. He’s miserable. He’s hurt.

Oh God, he's fucking _hurt._

He wants to get so drunk the pain dimmers into just a memory he’ll be forced to suffer in the morning. He wants the liquor to soothe the tension in his bones and relax his shoulders and his lips. He’s a better person to be around when he’s wasted but Jonas won’t let him drink all the time anymore.

_“Issy, you’re going to be a fucking alcoholic. Why not smoke with me and the boys later, instead? We’ll go by that park you like.”_

That park with the red roses that soak in the setting sun’s light, the orange and golden hues of the sky framing the ruby flowers like a painting. 

He takes a shot as the memories come back to him.

_Someone’s knee bumping his. Someone’s laugh enveloping his. Someone’s eyes raking over his skin. Someone’s company making him feel real again._

No, no.

That’s okay.

Call Issy back some other day.

The boy with fluffy blond hair, who’s always sitting at the other side of the bar, isn’t smiling as much as he normally does tonight. His arm isn’t wrapped around the pretty blonde girl’s shoulder and she isn’t looking up at him like he’s hung all the stars up in the sky. There’s a person in between them now, and the boy with the fluffy blond hair has had more than two glasses of wine tonight.

Isak’s scowling at his awful whiskey when he looks up to see two bright, bright blue eyes watching him.

Their eyes connect and it’s not the burn of the hard liquor that sets Isak’s nerves on fire, fogging up his brain.

A slow smiles draws across the boy’s face and he opens his mouth, as if to say something from across the bar.

_Hey, handsome. Come here often?_

But before he can even inhale a breath, the blonde girl is tapping on his shoulder and demanding his attention.

The boy purses his lips apologetically and gives Isak one final smile.

_No, no._

_That’s okay._

_You’re the only one who’s made me smile today._

 

II.

 

The next night, something similar happens.

The boy is sitting on the other side of the bar again and he’s detached from the blonde girl, who has yet to make an appearance tonight.

He’s got the same glass of wine in his hands and his eyes flicker over to Isak’s corner more than once.

Jonas is worried about him. Jonas wants Isak to stop going to the bar after classes every night and come to the library and study for exams.

_He’s never going to be as smart as Someone. He's never going to have the same work ethic as Someone did to make something of himself. He’s never going to be even half the kind of person Someone was._

Isak knows this. Isak knows this and he doesn’t put himself through self-induced torture by going to the library with Jonas and the boys and Eva and the girls. He doesn’t tell Jonas that he’s considering dropping out and taking online classes, maybe picking up a job at the bar for night shifts.

Isak’s okay.

Really, he is.

He’s got a firm grasp on a glass of bitter, bitter beer and he’s got the eyes of a beautiful stranger on his body.

Really.

He’s okay.

 

III.

 

The next night when the boy doesn’t come by the bar - but the blonde girl _does_ \- Isak buys two more drinks than he knows he should and foregoes ordering the stale cheesy bread.

He doesn’t leave until it’s 2 in the morning and he’s smiling cheerfully, he’s so wasted. The bartender he blew months ago tells him he should probably get going and would he like him to call a cab? 

_No, no._

_That’s okay._

_Issy will be right back._

 

IV.

 

Issy does not come _right_ back. 

Issy comes back into consciousness in the back of a taxi, his head pressed against the cool glass of a window.

Someone’s - but not _that_ Someone - hand is on his knee.

He feels warm when he comes back into consciousness again, this time on a white bed in an unfamiliar room. He blinks.

_He’s been here before._

His eyes are tired and his head is still cloudy. There's a gross taste on his tongue and his mouth feels like cotton. His heart is heavy, trying to anchor him down into the soft, soft mattress. He squints his eyes as he begins to understand where he is, what's going on, what's happened.

_Yes, he’s been here before - but no. He’s never been here in his life._

He sits up and he vaguely hears someone say his name.

“Oh, Isak Valtersen.”

He doesn’t wait around to find the culprit or hear further instructions. He heaves his legs off of the soft, soft mattress and pads across the hospital wing, his eyes wildly darting back and forth looking for an exit sign. 

He walks around a couple of corners. He walks down a long and winding hallway. He walks up to two employees standing in front of a bathroom.

“Hi, excuse me. Where’s the exit?”

Their eyes scan over his body and they paint masks over their faces to hide their smirks. _The exit is down there, to your left. Be careful._

He nods coherently, even though that makes his head spin faster and the world hazier as he walks down there to his left. There are the glass, double-doors. There is the street and there is a taxi.

It’s not until he’s in the taxi, on his way back to the apartment, that he realizes there's his vomit all over his lap.

 

V.

 

“Yo, Julian, did you get home okay? I didn’t see you last night and I got worried.” The bartender asks as Isak, setting down his usual order of whiskey.

His stomach curls at the sight of it and he’s dangerously close to throwing up.

Isak pushes the glass back and smiles weakly. “Actually, can I have a glass of white wine tonight?”

The bartender raises his eyebrow. “Oh? Yeah, absolutely. Forget about that one - that’s on the house, if you might want it later.”

“Thanks.”

He pushes the glass back farther away from him.

“Julian, huh?”

Isak jumps at the sudden sound behind him.

It’s the boy with fluffy blond hair, who’s normally sitting across the bar. Tonight, he’s got a jean jacket hanging over his shoulder and he’s watching Isak with those ocean eyes.

“Huh?” Isak repeats dumbly.

“Your name. It’s Julian?” The boy bravely takes a step forward and sits next to Isak.

Isak’s eyes flicker over to the bartender, who’s not within listening distance. “Oh, uh, no. I don’t, um, I don’t give my name to strangers at parties.”

Isak inhales a shaky breath and looks into the beautiful boy’s eyes. “I’m Isak.”

The boy smiles. “Even.”

 

VI.

 

Even orders a glass of white wine that night and smiles at Isak.

“You go to UiO?” He asks.

Isak nods softly. “First year. You?”

“Graduated last year as a film and media student.”

“Cool. I’m studying Chemistry.”

“Ah! You’re a little Einstein, aren't you?”

Isak blushes and scratches the side of his face. “Nei, nei. Not even close.”

“Nah, don’t doubt yourself. I bet you’re going to find the cure to cancer.”

Isak’s sure his cheeks are as red as Jonas’s eyes after a _good_ smoke. “Well, I bet you’ll be an award-winning director someday.”

“That’s the spirit, Isak.” Even says softly, thankfully conscious of Isak’s wariness of his real name. “How come you’re here all alone?”

Isak shrugs, staring at his untouched glass of wine. “It’s quiet, here.”

“My job company loves coming here after work.” Even explains as he presses his own glass to his lips. “We used to do happy hour here on Thursdays, but then that turned into happy hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays, then Mondays, and Tuesdays, and Thursdays, and suddenly we’re having happy hour every day. Except Sundays. Martin can’t come on Sundays because he’s at Church.”

That elicits a tiny, tiny chuckle from Isak. “How holy.”

“Someone’s gotta be, I guess.”

“True.” Isak looks back down at his fingers, biting his lip. He wants to ask about _her_. “Are you, um, are you alone tonight?”

Even nods. “Just me.”

If Isak were smoother, maybe he’d say, _Wrong answer._

Even would say back, _Hm?_

_You’re not alone. You’re with me._

 

VII.

 

For some reason, Even likes Isak.

He likes spending time with Isak at the bar, even on the days he’s there with his company. Even will politely spend a few minutes with them before gravitating over towards Isak for the rest of the night, who’s suddenly becoming more of a wine person each day he spends with Even.

Isak doesn’t have an endless bank account, as Even and his company seem to have. For some reason, Pappa still hasn’t noticed that his credit card has mysteriously gone missing and Isak isn’t sure how much longer he can keep ringing up these kinds of bar tabs. He needs to find a job, but his coursework is overwhelming him and it’s only the beginning of October and he’s already not sleeping. He’s worried that some day soon he’s not going to be able to fund his “Forget You” mission anymore.

They’re about five days into their friendship when Even asks The Question.

“So Isak, what are you really doing here all by yourself?”

Isak stares at his half-filled glass, slightly buzzed. 

This is not the kind of story that can be told half-way buzzed. It’s all or nothing.

Isak shrugs. “But I’m not alone. I’m with you.”

Even chuckles and drops the topic for the night, ignoring the blonde girl on the other side of the bar looking at them with scrutinizing eagle eyes.

He brings it up again, though, almost four days later. 

Pappa found out about his missing credit card and called Isak to ask what was going on. He became mad, mad, mad. He yelled loudly that Isak was bad, bad, bad. All he was doing was making Mamma sad, sad, sad.

 _Fuck you_. Isak had whispered into the phone, hoping desperately his words could pack the same kind of punch his father’s disappointment could. He hung up and he shut off his phone, completely going off the grid and disappearing from social media. 

“You’re not having anything tonight?” Even had asked when Isak shook his head at the bartender.

Physically, he’s very, very sober.

Emotionally, he’s a wasted concoction of broken emotions and repressed secrets. Inside, he’s so far detached from reality that he doesn’t know left from right anymore, or right from wrong. His head isn’t even attached to his body anymore, he feels like his mind is floating among the clouds on some sort of high he’ll never be able to come down from.

Maybe that’s why he lets Secret Number One out.

“Pappa found out I’ve been using his credit card.” Isak says. The words come out clearly in the air between them but they’re only slurred thoughts in his faded brain. “He got pissed.”

“Oh, shit.”

“So fucking pissed.”

“So I’m guessing he cut you off?”

“Ha!” Isak snorts and Even blinks in confusion. _His pretty eyes make confusion look unfairly attractive._ “Yeah, he fucking cut me off. He cut me off two years ago when he packed his stupid bags and ran away from us. He’s remarried some young, hot model now and he thinks I’m interested in coming by their new place to visit them. Stupid me thought, _why not_. I can’t live with _her_ anymore. Why not give it a try? So fucking stupid.”

Even’s frowning at him in confusion and _herregud,_ Isak _knows_ that look. It’s pity - thinly veiled pity in the form of his deepening frown and pressed lips. His eyes droop downward, the light that once illuminated the universe of night stars dimming and dimming and dimming.

Isak shakes his head and something compels him to reach out and take Even’s drink. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Don’t feel sorry for me.” Isak tells him and dangles the glass between them. “I’m the one who fucked up and made these dumb choices. It’s my fault.”

“Isak, what do you-“

“Mind if I have a sip of this?”

Even eyes him warily. “I don’t know, Isak. You seem kind of out of it, already. Can I take you home instead?”

No, no.

That’s okay.

Call Issy back some other day.

Isak doesn't have a home. Isak sleeps on the couch of his aunt's apartment when she's on vacation to escape the  _screams_.

Isak stands and shakes his head defiantly. “No.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get drunk. Are you coming?”

Even frowns, quickly following after him. A selfish, evil, horrible, vile part of Isak is gleeful that he follows Isak without hesitation and without a single word to his coworkers.

“Isak -“

“Shhh.” Isak says, grabbing for Even’s hand and pulling him out into the night. “I promise I’m sober. I just - I’ve just had a really rough day, okay? Pappa is mad at me and I have seven hours of homework that makes me nauseous and panicked to look at, so I haven’t done it yet. I just need this night to forget about it all.”

Even sighs. “You know it’s Tuesday, right? Why don’t you go home and watch a movie? Take a day off tomorrow to recuperate? You don’t need alcohol to feel better, Isak, I promise.”

_That’s what Someone said, too. Someone said that they loved me, that they appreciated having me in their life. Someone once made me feel more happy than an iota of alcohol can - Someone made me feel like love is real. Like love is something worth dropping everything you’ve ever known for, like love is something worth changing your entire world for._

He lost that.

He lost that right to take off tomorrow to recuperate because he’s _never_ going to recuperate. He fucked up - he fucked up _everything_ \- so he’s not allowed to feel that anymore or ever again.

He slumps down on the curb and rests his head in his palms. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do that. Thanks for stopping me. Don't worry about me. I'll call a taxi soon and head home.”

He’s wholeheartedly lying and maybe Even knows that.

Maybe that’s why Even sits down on the curb next to him and bumps their knees together. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I’m bipolar.”

Isak gives him the strangest look. “What?”

“I have to take meds to balance out my moods. Sometimes I get too excited and see the world in too many colors. Everything starts going too fast and I’m not in control of what’s happening around me or what I’m doing. Think of the highest roller coaster you’ve ever been on. Think of that ride to the top, the anticipation building in your stomach as you get closer and closer. You’re scared, right? But you’re not really conscious enough to _feel_ that fear - that's because you’re more excited than anything. You get lightheaded as you get closer to the top. Think of the moment right before you reach the top and right before you tip over. Nothing’s really tangible, in that moment, right? You’re kind of aware of what’s going on around you - but you’re not really there. Your head’s not really there in the moment. That’s what it’s like when I’m manic.”

Isak’s still staring at him in wonder when Even sighs deeply. “And then you fall. You fall so fast that every feeling comes flying at you all at once. The fear overtakes most of it. What if you really fall? What if your seatbelt comes unlatched and you go flying out of the cart you’re in, plummeting to the ground like a pancake? Most of the time that fear becomes so heavy and it weighs you down so far to the ground that you don’t want to get to get back out of the cart. You don’t want to get out of bed because the fear inside of you is weighing you down like this intense anchor, keeping a large ship at shore. The days begin to meld into one, the hours passing you by as you keep flying down this rollercoaster that fucking seems to never end.”

Even finally turns to Isak again, who’s taken his head out of his hands now. Even looks him carefully and deeply in the eyes. “That’s the depression part of it.”

 _Why are you telling me this?_ Isak wants to ask. _You’ve known me for a week. You know the superficial parts of me - my favorite ice cream, the kinds of music I listen to on the tram. Why do you trust me with this?_

“I guess I just wanted to get across is that the rollercoaster does end, Isak. You do get off the ride and then sometimes you have to get back on it, but you have a little more clarity than you did before. This time, you know that it’s going to end and that you’re not going to feel like this forever.”

Isak feels the repressed pain and the broken thoughts forming hot wells of tears behind his eye ducts. He feels like his rollercoaster has been going down and down and down for ages and it will never stop. How could he get off after he’s gotten so used to falling? He doesn’t remember what it’s like to stand straight on his feet without falling back down. He wants to get off - but he's so scared to. It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together than it does to fall apart. What if he's forgotten how to put himself back together and he repairs the pieces all wrong?

“I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through, right now. I won’t even ask until you feel like you can trust me enough to confide in. But I promise, Isak, the pain’s not going to last forever.”

 

VIII.

 

_1 July 2018_

_“Hey, Isak. What’s up?”_

_Isak twirls the strings of his sweatshirt in his finger, biting his lip nervously. “Hey. Just missed you.”_

_“Aw, I miss you too.”_

_“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”_

_“Isak, you saw me last week. At the graduation party. Remember?”_

_Isak’s stomach drops. “I know, but we used to see each other all the time.”_

_“Babe, you know I’m busy.”_

_“I know, but -“_

_“Isak, is something wrong? Do you need to tell me something?”_

_His voice sounds so clipped and so distant from how it normally sounds around him. His voice sounds exasperated, like he’s talking to a child instead of his boyfriend._

_So Isak just presses his lips together and swallows down the words he ~~wants~~ needs _ _to say._ _“Uh, no. I’m fine, it’s whatever. There’s this party tonight Jonas and I are going to. Want to come?”_

_“I’d come if I could babe, but I’ve got this commitment after work so I’ll be all tied up. Sorry about that.”_

_“Yeah, no it’s fine. I’ll see you, uh, soon?”_

_“Sounds good. Love you.”_

_“You too.”_

 

IX.

 

“We dated for four years.” Even tells him two weeks later over dinner at an Italian restaurant he adores. He spins his spaghetti around on his fork. “All throughout high school it was me and Sonja.”

“Wow. I bet it was serious, huh?” Isak murmurs, his foot tapping under the table. He and Even had made a pact to drink water or anything non-alcoholic that night. He’s _craving_ the burn of whiskey or the sophisticated sparkle of wine, but they’ve made a pact. They can get wasted on Fridays - and Fridays only for now. Maybe they’ll graduate back up to casual drinks at dinner again, but it’s not good for Even’s meds to drink so much and Isak’s growing tired of waking up in hospital beds without any clue of what brought him there.

So they made a pact and they're going to help each other heal. They're going to be there to help the other find the missing pieces of his fragile heart scattered over the ground.

“On and off, yeah. It's difficult, sometimes now, since we work at the same film company.”

“Do you work in the same office?”

“No, not really. I’m an apprentice for one of the casting directors and she’s a receptionist. So we don’t see each other _all_ the time. But a little too often, you know what I mean? We’re so familiar to each other that whenever we’re going through a rough patch in our personal lives, we gravitate back to each other. But it only takes a few days to remember why we don’t work in the first place.”

Isak’s _this_ close to ordering a margarita. His nerves are building up in his stomach and he just wants a taste - just a tiny, tiny taste. “Why don't you work out?”

_Why isn’t the craving eating away at Even? Why can he just sit there, watching the waiters back and forth with trays of shining liquor in beautiful champagne glasses, and not want to jump them?_

“She’s too controlling. She’s always monitoring me. Even do this, Even do that. Take your meds, Even. Drink this juice, Even. Go to the bathroom, Even, or else you’re going to have to go on the way there.”

Isak blinks, momentarily coming back to reality. “What? She did that? That’s so -“

“Motherly? I know.” Even snorts. “Kind of weird to be dating your mother, no? So yeah. It began to feel incestuous. We work better as friends.”

_We work better as friends._

Isak feels himself slipping away. _One_ glass wouldn't hurt him - just _one._

“Hey, Isak?”

Even’s voice is soft, but it’s strong enough to pull Isak back. His foot is hooked around Isak’s under the table and his soft fingers are on top of Isak’s now.

Isak looks back at him, blinking through the fog.

“Just wanted to make sure you’re still here with me.”

Something tugs at the corner of Isak’s mouth. “Can't we cheat tonight? Just one glass of wine? Please?”

Even wraps his fingers tighter around Isak’s, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of Isak’s hand. “What’s on your mind?”

_Someone._

_A friendship he wanted to explore further so badly that shouldn’t have been explored. A stranger. A friend, such a dearly beloved friend. A lover. A stranger, once again._

“Something I fucked up. Something special.” Isak mumbles.

“How about we get something special, then? Have you ever had a chocolate cake with warm chocolate in the middle?” Even offers. “With hot chocolate?”

That same something tugs again at Isak’s lips until he’s smiling. “You want to go into a chocolate coma?”

“Admit it, it doesn’t sound that bad.”

_No, no._

_That didn’t sound bad at all._

 

X.

 

Even’s good for him.

He’s better for him than alcohol is because he makes him just as warm and fuzzy as whiskey did. He kisses him better than whiskey does in the rain one night after they’re leaving the cinema.

“Fuck. It’s raining.” Isak curls his lip when looking at the droplets falling from the dark sky. He presses his face against the glass doors. “You didn’t bring an umbrella, did you?”

“Nei, of course not!” Even’s far too gleeful for midnight and he grabs Isak’s hand, pulling him outside. 

“Even! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Isak laughs behind his protests, not putting up any attempt to stop Even from pulling him along.

There’s not too many cars in the parking lot and Isak and Even are the only ones in the area. Even spins Isak around, who’s rolling his eyes fondly, but curling his arms around Even's neck.

“You’re so dramatic.” Isak tells him once they’ve calmed down and he’s close enough to Even to rest his tired head on his shoulder.

“Says the 18-year-old who threw a temper tantrum because the cashier at the concessions stand wouldn’t give us a student discount.”

“Hey!” Isak protests, pulling his head back so he can look Even in his bright, bright blue eyes. “If she had given us the discount I _rightfully_ deserved, you wouldn’t have had to pay over $10 for popcorn and drinks. That’s crazy!”

“It was worth it.” Even says, bringing his hand up to cradle Isak’s cheek. Like a kitten, Isak leans into his touch, _dangerously_ close to purring. “For you.”

“You can’t just say things like that.” Isak says stubbornly under hooded eyes. 

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not true.”

Even closes the distance between them, pressing his lips to Isak’s in the rain. He kisses him gently, stroking the side of his cheek, and pulls him as close as he can.

“You’re wrong. It is true.” Even whispers against Isak’s lips and kisses his cheek, his neck, forehead, his nose, and his lips once more. “I'll say it everyday.”

“I don’t deserve you.” Isak hears himself say quietly. He’s slipping again, but it’s not scary this time. It's not into a bad place this time: where left is right, where right is wrong, where up is down. It’s into a state of euphoria where his heart feels lighter, instead of so heavy, and where he sees colors so vividly without any influencing factors. He’s happy to dive headfirst this time into this state of bliss.

Even rubs his nose against his, shaking his head. “Yes, you do. I deserve you, you deserve me. You’re stuck with me, now, so get that through your pretty head.”

Even’s _so_ good for him.

He’s better for him because he tastes _so_ much better than the expensive wines they used to bond over a couple of months ago at the bar. His touch is more intoxicating than Isak’s ever been and the mornings he wakes up next to Even are a very happy replacement to those hangovers he’d almost grown accustomed to.

“Can’t I just stay in here with you, forever?” Even asks, rubbing his fingers through Isak’s hair one Saturday morning after a particularly hard week of exams for Isak and busy  film deadlines for Even.

They're home now. Their limbs are entangled in their warm, warm bed where the sun is peaking through the curtains and kissing Isak's bare skin. 

Resting peacefully on top of his chest, Isak nods with closed eyes and a sleepy smile. “You can.”

 

XI.

 

_1 July 2018:_ _the words i should have said_

_No, no._

_That’s not okay._

_I need to talk to you. I need to know that I’m not the only one who cares anymore._

_I need you to tell me that we’re going to be okay, that even though you’re busy you still want to make time for me in your life. I need you to understand how short the amount of time we have left together is and that I love you. I love how smart you are, how kind you are to the people around you. I love the way your mind works and how you turn unpleasant things into something positive. I love the sound of your laugh when I make a joke, I love how bright your eyes light up when you’re laughing so hard you’re close to tears. I love how caring you are, how passionate you are to your work._

_But I hate how passionate you are to your work that it’s become a third person in our relationship. I hate being the one to always text you, to always reach out first. I hate that I’m always going to be your second priority._

_But I’m still proud of you. I’m so proud of the person you have become since the days we grew up and how far your future is taking you. My heart swells with pride when you share exciting things that are happening to you. And then I wonder how it's even possible that I could love you so much._

_But I love you more than I love myself._

_I care about you more than I care about my mental health and I feel like I’m drowning. Pappa wants me to go see his new wife. Can you fucking believe he got remarried in less than a year? Who the fuck does that? Mamma’s still screaming every night before she wears herself out and goes to sleep. How the fuck do I take care of her? She yells too loud for me to talk to her. She doesn’t even look me in the eyes anymore._

_I feel like I’m drowning, like I’m stuck in this swimming pool at the shallow end, with my head pressed against the surface but unable to break through. Sometimes, it gets so bad that I can’t breathe. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to breathe air instead of water. Will I ever stop feeling like this? Will I ever be okay again?_

_I called you when I was at my darkest moment but you never called me back. I called you while I was lying in a hospital bed for the first time, drunk out of my mind, but you never called me back._

_And I forgave you._

_I forgave you every time._

_I’m sorry I apologized so many times. It wasn’t you who I owed the apologies to, it was me. I’m sorry that I let myself drown for so long that in an effort to break through the glass surface, that I broke you._

_Julian was nothing more than a nightlight in the never-ending darkness of this hole I had fallen in. Julian was only another person I'd hurt, in hopes to make you feel the same kind of misery I was feeling. Misery loves company, they say. And I only wanted your company._

_You made me feel like I couldn’t love someone again. That the love I felt for you was something so magical and so real - it could never be replicated. That’s the worst kind of heartbreak, I think. The kind where the only reprieve I could find was through bottomless bottles of whiskey. The physical pain outweighed the invisible pain you left behind and it was a valid reason to skip my morning classes. Who goes to biology lectures at 8am with a hangover?_

_Nobody understands what it feels like to only find solace in the bottom of a bottle. I hope you never do._

 

_14 February 2019_

_I met someone._

_His name is Even and he’s so kind. His soul is beautiful and it shows to everyone who meets him. He laughs at the silliest things and it’s endearing because he makes everyone around him feel so, so warm. He’s so extra. He calls me every morning after my first morning class just to say that he's proud of me. He studies with me in the library after work and brings hot chocolate, or coffee, or cookies. He’s sweet. Really, really sweet. He loves movies so I bought him a marathon of his favorite ones for Christmas. I’ve never seen someone smile for so long in my life. ~~I try to be half the person he is~~ I'm working on this thing where I don't put myself down to put the people I love up on pedestals. I love him so much and I can only hope he knows.  
_

_I love him differently than I loved you. I loved you as a dear friend, someone I wanted to admire and cherish for the rest of my life. I wanted to be the kind of person of you were. The kind of person you are. And I understand that now. I was just too confused and too scared to understand what it all meant._

_Maybe one day, if you ever forgive me, you could meet him. You would like him. You would be the greatest of friends - like how we’re supposed to be. Not lovers. Not strangers. But, friends._

_Take care of yourself. Call me sometime if you want. I appreciate everything you did for me._

_Isak x_

 

XII.

 

Isak signs his name and stares at the sheet of paper in front of him. It doesn’t feel like there’s this huge weight being lifted off of his shoulders. He doesn’t feel like relieved, or cured, or healed, or repaired.

He goes outside to the balcony to show the letter to Even, who's beaming at him like he’s accomplished something important.

“Now,” Even says as he lights a match over the railing, “we burn it.”

Isak places the letter over the railing and lets Even touch the lighter to the end of the paper. Isak watches his words disappear to the flames, the pain of his past burning away into a distant memory. The wind’s breeze chases away the ashes and Isak lets the top half of the paper fall towards the ground.

“How do you feel?” Even asks, wrapping his arm around Isak’s neck and pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek.

Isak contemplates for a moment. He feels something strange, that's for sure. But it's not unwelcome. It's nice, he thinks.

Isak looks him in the eyes, tilting his head up for a kiss.

“Sober.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> hiiiiii. not really sure where this came from. i'm working on two other stories right now (which will be updated shortly!!!!!) but i needed to get this one off my chest. i really liked this quote and i really like these two.
> 
> if i were sadistic and this was written about ANY other couple, the ending would be a lot more angsty. but it's isak and even and all they are allowed to have are happy endings. so hope u like it :) <3
> 
> [tweeter](https://twitter.com/wckdisaks)   
>  [tumblr](http://ourlovelybones.tumblr.com)


End file.
